The Bus Cycle
by Orlissa
Summary: "Stepping on the Bus after the night spent in Dublin felt almost surreal, almost like entering an alternative reality, where everything was exactly the same–only she had banged her S.O. Repeatedly. In various positions." Smut series exploring the early days of Skye and Ward's relationship in a S1 AU. Direct continuation of my Dublin Cycle, set in the Haylie/Ada/Ellie Verse
1. Part I: Insecurity

**A/N:** Due to popular demand (at least I hope so there's one for this), I present the continuation of the _Dublin Cycle_. If you didn't read that, that's okay–basically, Skye and Ward had several rounds of great sex in the hotel in Dublin, and this story is picking up just as they get back to the Bus in the beginning of _Repairs_. If everything goes well–at least that's what I have planned–this will be a five chapter long story, mostly smut, with just a bit of actual plot, all exploring the early days of the relationship of these two in my Haylie/Ada/Ellie Verse. Note: for narrative reasons, the timeline of _Repairs_ was slightly changed in this story. I hope you'll forgive me this much artistic license :) So, without further fanfare, I present the first chapter. Enjoy!

 **Word Count:** 6250 **  
Rated:** M  
 **Disclaimer:** [Insert witty text here that tells you I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.]

* * *

 **Part I: Insecurity**

Stepping on the Bus after the night spent in Dublin felt almost surreal, almost like entering an alternative reality, where everything was exactly the same–only she had banged her S.O.

Repeatedly. In various positions.

Which, by the way, she most certainly had done (she had a dull, pleasant ache between her legs to prove it), and totally planned doing it again.

Because those cards were on the table, that much seemed pretty clear to her after the previous night and that morning, after all of their awkward confessions ( _Look, I'm not… I don't do relationships… I don't know how–so you'll have to teach me, alright?_ ) and shared moments. However, the morning had also left her with a seed of doubt–because no matter how well it had started (there was something amazing about having sex first thing in the morning), what came after their phones had rung, calling them back to the Bus, made her conviction waver about his intentions.

* * *

" _Shirt," she called, tossing Grant his Henley over the bed, which he caught effortlessly, with a quick swipe of his hand._

" _Thanks." He offered her a small, almost awkward smile, then quickly pulled the shirt on, even though his pants were still yet to be found._

 _The room was a mess, she noted as she slipped into the hotel-provided bathrobe and started gathering up her clothes. She knew that they were a tiny bit hurried and… passionate the night before, but she hadn't realized what a mess they had made until she saw the room in daylight. Their clothes were all over the place (even in corners of the room she hadn't even remembered going close to), turned inside-out and wrinkled way beyond acceptable-for-wear level after they spent the night on the floor… or the curtain rod, in the case of her shirt (she didn't even want to know), the bed looked like a family of ferrets wrestled in it, and the stuff that had been neatly placed on the table the night before was now strewn all over the carpet._

 _All the signs of a night spent well, if you ask her._

 _The only problem was that they were supposed to tidy up at least a tiny bit–just to the degree so the place wouldn't look like an earthquake-stricken area–in the thirty minutes before they were supposed to leave. Because, crushing all of her dreams of a lazy morning, they had just been assigned to a new mission that required them to return to the States immediately (which was kind of a bummer, really)._

" _Skye," he called to her softly, but it was enough to draw her from her thoughts and turn her attention to him. With her roughly folded pants in her hands, he turned towards Grant, eyes wide, waiting for him to continue. "Could we…" he paused, clearing his throat. "Could we keep this on the down low for a bit?"_

 _She blinked. "On the down-low?"_

" _Yes. I mean," he ran his hand through his hair and took a step towards her, "could we keep this between us? Just for a little bit?"_

 _She hesitated before answering, just looking at him, turning his words around in her head, trying to make sense of them._

" _You're asking me to lie about us?" she said at last. She tried to keep the hurt and the fear that were fighting their way the surface at bay, but she wasn't sure she succeeded._

" _No, not like that!" he rushed out, reaching for her elbow, his thumb caressing her almost absent-mindedly even through the material of her robe. "Not like that… I'd never ask you to lie, not for me. It's just…" He let out a long breath, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. It was strange seeing him this indecisive and almost vulnerable, but then again, after the day they had had, it should have come as no surprise. "It's just that this, what we have," he slid his hand down her forearm, slipping his fingers between hers, "it's going to change things, complicate things. And I think… I need some time to figure things out and to spend with you, just the two of us, before that happens."_

 _Pushing all her unease to the back of her mind, she offered him a smile that she hoped was flirty and flippant, and squeezed his hand._

" _Then let's sneak around for a bit, Romeo."_

* * *

He left her room about two minutes and a long kiss after that, going back to his own, unslept-in room for a quick shower, and she hadn't seen him since that, but her mind kept going back to his words again and again.

The rational part of her knew that he was right–she was pretty sure the S.H.I.E.L.D. top brass frowned upon fellow agents, let alone an S.O./rookie duo dating, since that could lead to pretty damn big conflicts of interest. Skye wasn't really afraid of how _Coulson_ would react (after all, he did let a bunch of stuff slide), but she had some ideas about what would happen if someone else–like, say, Victoria Hand–stumbled upon them. Scandal. Lots of angry agents. Coulson's leadership skills questioned. Grant reassigned. Her kicked out. The two of them separated. _The team_ separated. So yes, from this point view, the best route they could take was to keep their–she was careful to use this word–relationship a secret, at least until they knew where they were headed and/or found a loophole in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s rules that would spare them the drama.

Still, the less rational, but decidedly more creative part of her was not so kindly entertaining her with various, terrible explanations for why he could have asked her to "keep it on the down-low." Basically, all centered around the idea that Grant wasn't really being serious about having had wanted her for a long time and wanting a relationship with her, that he only wanted to fuck her and possibly keep doing that, while also pursuing other women, like, for example May ( _ugh_ , that'd be weird) without the fear of her talking.

Needless to say, she tried to focus on the rational part of her mind, or, better yet, simply on the night before. Which was actually pretty easy, considering that her mind kept turning back to all the steamy details of what happened in that room without being asked to–actually, she was starting to realize, the harder task was not to think of all the things they had done in that room. Which was, to be honest, already proving to be a problem around the time the Bus took off.

The plane's wheels had barely lifted from the tarmac when Coulson called her to his office for some one-on-one briefing about their newest case. He did that from time to time, to bring her up to speed and to assign her some tasks. And she appreciated it, she really did–it was nice to know that A.C. took time and effort to work with her and to teach her about the inner workings of S.H.I.E.L.D, even after her fiasco with Miles–, but no matter how freaking cool this new assignment seemed, Skye just couldn't will her mind to be on the job.

She had a hard time processing what Coulson was saying about their person of interest–who might have been a telekinetic, something that would have sent her excitement levels through the roof any other day–as she sat in the plush armchair in his office, trying to act normal and… well, non-guilty. Still, she kept fidgeting, crossing and uncrossing her legs as pictures of the previous night flashed in her mind ( _Grant's mouth on her breast, his hand between her legs…_ ), making her heart quicken ever so slightly. She avoided Coulson's gaze, training her eyes on the file in front of her, but barely seeing the words on the page, as he talked about the Index. She made her trademark quips, but in an almost hurried, nervous fashion, adjusting her hair and collar almost obsessively all the time–she was afraid he'd catch a hickey and ask her about it, and then she'd have to–

"Skye?" Coulson said in a tone that made her think he must have noticed her spacing out. "Are you alright?" His question was laced with concern.

She offered him a small, hopefully innocent smile. "Yeah, no worries. I just didn't sleep much last night." Which was technically not a lie.

Coulson's expression softened as he leaned back in his chair. "Of course, we all had a stressful day." He checked his wristwatch before adjusting his sleeve. "It'll be a couple of hours before we reach Utah. I'll need you to dig into Ms. Hutchinson's digital footprint a bit, but that can wait. Go, have some rest."

Nodding in thanks, she got up from the chair–careful so that her hair stayed in place to hide any potentially visible love bites–, hugging the file to her chest. "Thanks, A.C. See you before we land," she said as she left the office, sliding the door closed behind herself.

Truthfully, despite the hours spent _not_ with sleeping last night, she wasn't feeling tired at all–actually, she felt surprisingly invigorated, as if she could… well, not run a marathon, but do a couple of rounds at the punching bag that would make Grant proud. So napping wasn't exactly what she planned for the next couple of hours, and to be honest, she contemplated as she walked down the spiral staircase, she wasn't so eager to get started on the Hutchinson-assignment either. She knew very well what she really wanted to do–she hadn't seen him since he had left the hotel room, and although that was mere hours ago, she had this incessant _nagging_ feeling inside of her that told her to seek him out–, only she wasn't sure if it would have been a good idea–if he had wanted her to do it. They were keeping it "on the down low," after all.

But before her mind could have gone down on this lane again–making her possibly-likely overthink things–, life solved this problem for her.

Grant was there in the lounge as she reached the bottom of the stairs, apparently having just come up from the lower deck himself, standing a good ten spaces from her. Their eyes met, and then there was this terrible, romance movie-cliché moment when time seemed to stand still, the world ceased to exist, and she forgot how to breathe for a moment.

"FitzSimmons are down in the lab," he said ever so casually, his face unreadable, breaking the moment and sucking her back to the now. "May's in the cockpit. Coulson?"

"Up in the office," she nodded towards the upper level, one hand still on the railing, one foot still on lowest step. "Doing paperwork."

"Great." And then he smiled–it was one of his rare, subdued smiles that somehow still made the corners of his eyes crinkle, the kind that, she found, was amazing and capable of making her heart race (she was _deep_ , _deep_ , wasn't she?). Then, before she could have realized what was happening, he was already on his way to her, closing the distance between them with long, confident strides. She stepped away from the stairs as well and met him halfway, looking up at him with a smile on her lips as well as he cupped her face in his hands, leaned in, and kissed her.

It was an innocent kiss, definitely more chaste than anything they had shared the night before–he barely brushed his lips against hers, gently, tenderly, making her whole body tingle, before resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, their noses touching. He stayed like that for a moment, taking a deep breath, while her hands, almost timidly, found their way to his waist.

"Hello," he said softly when he opened his eyes, still not withdrawing from her.

"Hi," she replied, feeling strangely giddy.

He pressed another quick peck to her lips. "I've missed you."

There was something almost painfully genuine and honest in that sentence, and it made her breath hitch.

"It's been only, like, two hours," she tried to joke, her eyes fluttering closed as she almost absent-mindedly caressed his sides.

"I don't care," he said, then kissed her again, deeper this time. His mouth was hard, insistent against hers and she yielded, parting her lips; the tip her tongue sneaked out, and she ran it along the seam of his lips, teasingly inviting him deeper. He groaned, then delved into her mouth, his hands sliding down from her face first to her neck, then down her back, yanking her to him when she bit into his lower lip.

His hands roaming up and down her back, sending shivers through her body, her own hands wandered to the small of his back, fisting the material of his shirt and yanking it free from the waist of his pants, unconsciously wanting to feel more of his skin against hers.

And then he suddenly pulled away.

"We shouldn't do this," he said between heavy breaths, alarming her for a moment before he continued. "We're too much in the open."

Well, he was right, she noted to herself. They–she–had taken it too far, even though they said they'd keep a low profile, keep whatever they had hidden for now. So, reluctantly, she let her hands fall from his waist and took a step back (although she couldn't not notice how his face was flushed, his pupils dilated, his lips ever so slightly swollen; he didn't look like a man wanting to stop.)

"Of course, you're–"

She didn't get to finish the sentence. His mouth was on hers once again before she could have gotten out the next word, hands sliding down to her ass to lift her. She obliged, snaking her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs around his waist as he lifted her.

He kissed her even more fervently than before, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and rubbing his tongue against hers, while he unabashedly palmed her ass, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"I thought… ah…" she said when he moved to her neck (his mouth now surely leaving hickies in its wake). "I thought it was too risky."

He bit into the junction of her neck with just enough force to be on the pleasant side of painful, making her core throb.

"It is," he agreed, although he made no moves to untangle himself from her. "Bunk?"

It was like a band-aid to a bullet hole–it wasn't as if the bunks were that secure or anything–, but she couldn't care less, at least not until he kept kissing her like that. "Yours is closer."

Hiking her a little higher– _heaven forbid he put her down_ –, he made his way towards his bunk confidently, never stumbling once (she just had to admire his strength), then, somewhat awkwardly, slid the door open with one hand, stepped in, then placed her on the bed with surprising carefulness before closing the door.

She barely had a moment to take in his bunk (it had just dawned upon her she had never been inside before)–the crisp sheets, the bare walls, the neat, uncluttered shelves–, before he was on her again, as if he couldn't go on for another moment without kissing her. He knelt before her as she sat on the edge of the bed, his hands on her sides, slipping beneath her shirt, his thumbs rubbing circles against her hips. She slid her own hands into his hair, blunt nails scraping his scalp, pulling him closer–anchoring him to herself–, as she tried to lean back, pulling him above her, only he wouldn't let her.

"Wait," he mumbled between kisses as his lips trailed down her neck, a hand sliding down her thigh, past her knee, down to… the zipper of her boot.

An unintentional chuckle bubbled from her mouth. "What, no shoes on the bed?"

He sat back on his heels and looked up at her all serious, just a touch of a smirk on his lips. "Absolutely no shoes on the bed."

It was so unfitting for the moment, so _un_ passionate–yet so painfully him–that she could couldn't help herself–a hand flying to her mouth, she fell back on the mattress, her whole body rocking with poorly suppressed laughter.

Quickly, but carefully, he slipped her boots and socks off her feet, first the left, then the right, sliding his fingers along her soles–maybe looking for ticklish spots–, before sitting on the bed to get rid of his own shoes as well. Feeling the mattress dip right beside her, Skye stopped chuckling and, pulling her legs under her, she knelt on the bed and slipped her arms around his neck from behind, dipping her head to his neck. She kissed his warm skin, feeling the tendons tense under her lips as he moved upwards, while her hands slowly slipped down his chest, fingers stretched out, mapping the hard contours of his body.

His shoes off, he suddenly grabbed her wrist, but instead of pulling her wandering hand away from his abdomen, he stilled her and slipped his fingers between hers. "Are you trying to drive me crazy?"

She grinned, her lips only a hairbreadth away from his ear. "Maybe."

She expected some kind of a retort, a continuation of their easy banter, but then the next moment he moved–with the same grace and speed and unbelievable accuracy she'd seen so many times on the field–, and before she could have realized what was happening, she found herself on her back, her breath leaving her in a surprised puff, with him above her, his hands on her ribcage, his mouth hard against hers.

" _Wow_ ," she breathed when his lips trailed down her neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses on her skin. "You'll have to teach me this move."

He stopped, then raised his head to look at her, his smirk decidedly devilish. "Maybe."

His message was clear: _two can play this game_.

"Nice," she chuckled, her hands slipping into his hair and pushing his head down, "but now get back to work!"

He needed no more encouragement–in a blink of an eye he was back on her, hands slipping down her waist then back up, now under her shirt, fingertips teasing the band of her bra. His lips pressed hungry kisses on the column of her throat, going down, _down_ , his tongue drawing circles in the small dip where her collarbones met, then trailing a path down her sternum, while deft fingers reached up to unbutton her shirt–just the top few buttons, just to give him better access. He pushed the material aside, then pulled down the cup of her bra, freeing her breast. He massaged the soft mound, then fastened his lips around her nipple, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak, leaving her a dazed, panting mess.

She felt as if liquid fire was rushing through her veins and the only thought in her mind was him, _him_ , his lips and hands and how she needed _more_. Slipping her hands to the back of his head, she pulled him back to her mouth and took his lower lip between her teeth, making him growl and angle his hips so he could push himself against her core. Even with the layers of clothing still between them, she could feel him, hard and hot and throbbing, which made her center ache to have him inside of her.

"Please," she breathed against his lips, fisting her hands in the material of his shirt and pulling it up. "I need to feel you…"

She felt his smirk against her skin. "Eager, are we?" he asked as their eyes met, something almost dangerous flashing in his irises. _That bastard_.

"Oh, I'll give you-" she started, but he didn't let her finish; he silenced her with a well-timed and borderline dirty kiss mid-sentence (he was a great tactician, after all), his lips moving hard against hers, making all coherent thought abandon her.

Still, it seemed like he'd taken her request to the heart, because when the kiss ended (all too soon, but hey, even they needed to breath), he rose to his knees (eliciting a disappointed groan from her), and first shook off his button down, then pulled his undershirt over his head in one swift move, dropping the garment on the floor next to the bed. Her pulse quickening still at the sight of his bare chest–all the ridges and valleys and the soft indentations of his ribs on his sides–she reached for him, ready pull him down on her, let their bodies press against each other, let her feel his heartbeat against her chest, but before she could have reached him, he was already standing up from the bed and reaching for the waistband of his pants.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched him as he pushed the black denim down his hips. She had a witty quip on the tip of her tongue, a little teasing about him already giving her a trip tease, but she was so enthralled by the sight of him that she remained silent, biting into her lower lip in anticipation. Everything about him was different, more enhanced, in broad daylight, and those tiny details she had missed the night before–a freckle on his side, that faint scar on his hip from Peru, the way his penis, erect and exciting, stood proud as he pushed his boxers down, the head glistening with a drop of milky white precum–completely held her attention captive.

So much that it took her a moment too long to realize she was supposed to get rid of her clothes as well. Really, it only registered for her when their eyes met and Grant smirked down at her. "See something you like?"

Oh, she saw _plenty_ she liked, and she wanted to tell him this in _detail_ (stroking his ego be damned), but first she needed him on her, _in_ her, so instead she only said, "And you?" And with that she reached for–with hands slightly trembling in anticipation–for the buttons of her shirt he hadn't yet undone.

He didn't need to answer her; she saw everything in his eyes–yearning and passion and adoration and so many other things (it almost frightened her). He stood above her for a fraction of a second longer, just as long as she got one button undone, and then he was climbing back on the bed, settling between her legs and pulling her hands away. "Let me," he said almost in a whisper.

She didn't protest, but simply lay back, letting him take the lead. He lowered his head to her chest and kissed her between her breasts, while his hands reached for the front of her shirt, seeking out the buttons that still held the garment closed. He popped the top one open while his lips moved downwards–with every button undone and more of her skin unveiled, he kissed her lower and lower, just under her sternum, on her abdomen, teasing her navel, until he could open the shirt completely. He didn't stop there, but kept moving even lower, drawing a line with the tip of his tongue along the waistband of her pants, making her shiver. By the time he undid her jeans and the pulled the zipper down, she was ready to combust and it took all of her willpower not to moan out loud. She raised her hips slightly to help him divest her of her pants, while she, needing more friction, pushed the cups of her bra down and started fondling her breasts, pinching the erect nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

He pulled her pants and underwear down agonizingly slow, kissing along her leg, down her thigh, past her knee up to the arch of her foot, his lips leaving goosebumps in their wake. Once her jeans were finally off, he took his sweet time going up as well (weren't they kind of supposed to… _hurry_?), clearly intent on torturing her until her breaking point–until she downright begged him to take her.

Once reaching the apex of her thighs, he spread her wide and, teasingly, drew a fingertip along her slit, applying the slightest of pressure to her clit. Then, before she could've told him to quit playing around, that she wanted more, he lowered his head between her legs and tasted her, flattening his tongue against her core. She took a sharp breath in surprise, and it took every ounce of her willpower not to shout out in ecstasy as he lapped at her, her body going rigid and her hips shooting up from the mattress so he had to push her down as he teased her clit with the tip of his tongue.

She closed her eyes and fisted the sheets at the intensity of the sensation of his mouth on her, his lips expertly mapping out every sweet spot. Next to all the things they had done the previous night, this, him going down on her, had been somehow left out, which she hadn't minded then, but now, _oh_ , now she cursed herself for not pushing him down there at the first chance she got. He had barely started working on her, and she was already whimpering and feeling her body tightening, like the string of a bow being pulled back, ready to shoot the arrow. She could feel her climax near, just a little bit more, just a little more pressure…

Then, as suddenly as he started it, he was rising from between her legs, making her groan in disappointment. Feebly, she tried to push him back, sliding her fingers into his hair, but he just pulled her hands away, kissing her wrist, then climbed over her, his hips cradled between her thighs, his erection pressing deliciously against her hot, throbbing center. Supporting himself on one hand, he caressed her face with the other, then kissed her, deep and dirty, letting her taste herself on his lips.

"One day," he whispered into her ear before pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to her jaw, "I'll do this for hours." He moved downwards, sucking at her neck. "I'll spend hours between your legs, making you come again and again," he bit into her shoulder, "until you just can't take it anymore."

She wanted to tease him; talk back to him; tell him that he's all talk and no action or that he should start doing that now, but she couldn't find the words, so instead she grabbed his face and pulled it back to hers, fusing their mouths together. He responded to her right away, tangling his tongue with hers as she looped her arms around his neck, anchoring him to her.

When they finally had to come up for air, he rested his forehead against hers and sneaked a hand down between their bodies, seeking out her core; she inhaled sharply as he dipped a single finger into her. "Are you ready?" he asked, stroking her walls.

She almost groaned in impatience. He was going to be the death of her if he kept doing this. "Ready to hit you if you don't do something in the next… _oh_ … two seconds," she said, opening her legs even wider in invitation.

She more like felt than saw his smirk as gave her a quick kiss, then she felt him withdraw his finger from her to take himself into his hand. He slid his hard, swollen member along her slit once, twice, to coat himself in her juices–she was _dripping_ –and just to torture her, then, angling his hips, he pushed into her agonizingly slowly.

It was still a tight fit, and she was still slightly sore from the previous day, but it was still a feeling she wouldn't have exchanged for anything. Reaching deep inside of her, he filled her in a way no-one had ever filled her before, making her feel as if she'd found a piece of her she'd lost long ago.

Once completely sheathed in her, he stilled for a moment with a low groan tearing free from the depth of his throat, then started moving, slowly, barely pulling out before sliding back in. Nuzzling her face against his neck to smother any of her pleasured moans against his skin, she hooked her legs around his waist and started to move with him, encouraging him to go faster. _She needed him to go faster, harder_. After all the foreplay and due to the pure _thrill_ of the situation, she was already so close–she knew it wouldn't take her long to reach her climax, but for that to happen she needed just a little bit more.

So, digging her fingers into his back, no doubt leaving red half-moons on his skin, she slightly turned her head to the side and pressed her lips against his neck, sucking and lapping at his pulse point. This worked like a charm to spur him on, as the moment her mouth was on him, he moaned, then, grabbing her thigh to hike her leg higher, he started going faster, pounding into her with abandon, pulling almost completely out before plunging back in.

She would have loved to freeze time and live in this moment forever, have their bodies eternally joined, but soon she could already feel the telltale tingling along her spine and tightening in her body, making her aware that she was close to fall over the edge.

"I'm… ah… I'm…" she tried to tell him, but she was way past of using coherent words, and with each thrust of his hips she was slipping further away from reality. Thankfully, he seemed to understand her anyway.

"Yes," he breathed as he dug his fingers into her thigh almost painfully. "Come for me."

Three more pumps; that's how much she needed before she exploded around him, her toes curling and her back arching and her walls spasming, trapping his members inside of her and making her forget about the outside world beyond this bed and beyond his arms. In the midst of stars dancing behind her closed eyelids, she felt him first tremble, then still completely, then warmth erupted within her as he came inside of her, filling her up with his hot seed, drawing out her own orgasm.

She was not exactly aware of herself, or the things around her–only of her pounding heart and the pleasure running in her veins–, in the couple of seconds that followed their climax. The next thing that she registered was that he'd pulled out of her and somehow had managed to arrange their bodies that now they were laying in their sides, legs tangled together, with him spooning her from behind, one arm under her neck, the other around her waist.

At first, she only felt contentment.

Then reality came crashing down on her.

The last night… Dublin… that was like a dream, something that does not belong to reality; everything that had happened there, she could justify, but now that dream was over and they were back in reality, back on the Bus with its familiar walls and sounds and written and unwritten rules, and she just couldn't help but feeling–lying in his arms, practically naked, their mixed juices dripping from her, probably ruining his sheets–that she is doing something wrong.

The fact that he had asked her to keep their affair a secret did not help a bit.

Suddenly, there was nothing she wanted more than to be away from him, so she could think clearly. (And maybe to run away and hide, because, damn, she had practice in that.)

Legs still weak and shaky, she slipped from his arms and started to get up. "I should go," she said in a quick, clipped voice, avoiding his eyes. "If someone-"

Strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her back. "Just five minutes more," he murmured, settling her against his chest. "Five minutes won't hurt anyone." (It was almost as if he was a different person when he was with her; or was he just dropping a mask?)

She didn't protest–she didn't know exactly why–, just let him pull her close and then lay there almost rigidly, ready to bolt once the five minutes were up.

But of course he noticed that something was amiss.

First the hand caressing her back stilled; then she could feel his breathing change; then he asked, in a voice eerily similar to the one he used with her during their training sessions, "Is everything alright?"

She closed her eyes for a moment before answering. "Sure."

"Skye," he pressed, "talk to me."

"Drop it, will ya?" She fisted the sheets without meaning to.

"You're scaring me," he went on, turning her around in his arms and sitting up with her so he could look at her, "sweetheart, please…"

It was too much; being so close to him, having to look at his face–now she just couldn't look away–, it was too much, so she just blurted out, "Do you have somebody else?"

There was a moment of complete silence and stillness as he processed her words; she could actually see his expression change from puzzlement to bewilderment in a fraction of a second. "Somebody else?"

"Are you sleeping with someone else?" she asked, stubborn tears pricking her eyes. "Like May?"

He gulped; but it wasn't a "guilty" kind of gulp, more one to suppress coming laughter. "May?" he echoed, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

"Don't you dare to be amused, or…" she didn't know how to finish, but, for emphasis, she did raise her fisted hands, as if to punch him, only he grabbed her wrists and pressed calming kisses to her knuckles.

"Sorry, it's just…" He let go of her hands and cupped her face, wiping away a stray tear or two with his thumbs. "There's no-one else. Especially not May," he assured her in a gentle voice as he leaned in and kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her nose. "Only you." He kissed her lips. "Why would you think otherwise?"

Suddenly, she felt downright stupid–because, of course, these were just words, and he was a super spy, after all, a master of deception, but he did sound so sincere and seemed honestly befuddled by the idea of him sleeping with someone else, and _damn_ , she believed him.

She cast her eyes down. "It's just… you were so adamant that we kept it under wraps… I just thought–I know it's crazy–I just thought you wanted me to keep quiet about it so you could… score elsewhere, too."

He actually let out a light chuckle at that.

"Hey," he took her chin in his hands and gently coaxed her to look at him, "as long as I have you, I don't need–or _want_ –anybody else, okay? The only reason I asked you to keep it a secret–"

"Yeah, I know," she interrupted him, "so we don't get into trouble with the boss," she said, nodding towards the upper deck and Coulson's office.

He smiled slightly. "Exactly." Pulling her towards him, he kissed her again, then, looking deep into her eyes, he continued, "But if you want to–if it's too much–, just tell me, any time, and I'll go to Coulson right away and confess everything."

Now this made her smile too (she refused to think about what it would actually mean to come clean about their… yeah, relationship). She raised her hand and traced the contours of his face with her fingertips; he leaned into her touch. "And what would you tell him exactly?"

He shrugged, almost imperceptibly. "I don't know. I'll improvise. I'm good at that," he said with a cheeky smirk.

Their mission in Belarus coming to her mind, she chuckled. "Yeah, you might want to rethink that." She let out a sigh. "I'm afraid you'll need a different strategy for that, Agent Ward."

"Thankfully, I have you to work that out." His hand slipping to the back of her neck, he rested his forehead against her. "Are we okay now?"

"Of course," she answered, letting her eyes drift closed. "I'm sorry. I was-"

"Don't be. I'm actually glad we discussed this." He kissed her again, then started to pull her back down. "So… five more minutes?" he asked as he settled on his back, drawing her on top of him, her head pillowed on his chest.

"Okay, five more minutes," she smiled against her skin. "But after that, I'm going back to my bunk." She lay an arm across his stomach, anchoring herself to his side. "I'm totally planning on taking that nap Coulson advised me. You kinda wore me out."

"Or you could nap here," he suggested almost playfully. "So, once you're rested, I could wore you out again."

"And what about being careful, stud?" she smirked.

"Some risks are worth taking."

 _That's for sure_ , she thought, closing her eyes and knowing that, yes, this was going to be an exciting ride.


	2. Part II: Rules

**A/N:** It took a while, but it's here! :) I hope you'll like it. Big thanks to Airaze and Stargazerdaisy for correcting my mistakes and putting up with me.

* * *

 **Part II: Rules**

Grant secured the boxing bag to the floor of the cargo bay, then stood up and eyed it, contemplating whether he should beat his frustration out before Skye arrived for their training session—their first one since Dublin—or flee altogether.

Because he was in trouble—well, bigger trouble than he had first realized.

Truth to be told, he hadn't been thinking much when they ended up in Skye's hotel room after their talk at the bar, or the following day, when they repeated the previous night in his bunk. Or, rather, he had been thinking (about things like how soft her skin felt under his fingertips, or how she moaned when he kissed her at just the right spot), only not about the long-term consequences of his actions. Well, okay, he'd thought about that, too—that was how he came up with the idea of keeping their relationship (he still grinned like a fool when he thought about that) a secret until they sorted things out. Which, in theory, sounded great.

But in practice? Not so much.

Only he needed two days spent with escorting a possible telekinetic, fighting a dimension hopping maniac, crash-landing in a forest, then hobbling to a S.H.I.E.L.D. base for repairs and writing what was arguably the strangest report in his life to put things into perspective.

And to realize that he was screwed.

Because training Skye while fantasizing about her when he was off the clock was one thing; training her while he knew that his previous fantasies didn't even hold a candle to the real thing and that he would most likely just need to _ask_ was a completely different thing. One that he really was not trained for.

But it wasn't like he had much choice: he couldn't just stop training Skye—she was getting more and more involved in their missions, so she needed the knowledge and the practice; he couldn't just ask May to take over—that would raise questions (even though May herself appeared to be supportive of him and Skye, if the little speech she had given him was any indication), which in turn would eventually lead to them being found out, something he couldn't let happen—at least not yet. And he couldn't break it off with Skye, either, since she was the single best thing that had happened to him since… forever.

He took a deep breath and put his hands on the bag, his head bowed, letting his fingers skim along the black leather.

Okay, he could do this, he tried to convince himself. It wasn't even the hardest thing in his life. He just needed to compartmentalize, and he was good at that. Really good. And now only he needed to get Skye do the same.

Just as he reached this point in his lamentations, he heard the spiral staircase creak softly behind his back, announcing Skye's arrival—who was, surprisingly, on time for once. Letting his hands fall from the boxing bag, he turned around, intending to greet her with a little teasing about her sudden punctuality, but the words died on his lips the moment his eyes fell on her.

He couldn't really say that she was not dressed for training, but her attire surely pushed the boundaries of workout clothes—the pants were just a little bit too snug around her hips, and the top was just a mite too low-cut, letting her hot pink sports bra peeking out from under the neckline; her hair was let down, falling onto her shoulders in loose curls that just screamed styling effort, and he could even detect some light makeup on her face. She looked gorgeous (like always), he wanted nothing more than to ravish her, and the small, sly smile on her lips told him that she was well aware of that.

He really needed to pull himself together.

"Hi," she greeted him, her grin widening, as she hopped down from the second to last step. She walked over to him with an easy swagger in her steps, coming closer to him than what was necessarily appropriate. "Reporting for duty, oh, my great S.O.," she said with laughter hiding in her voice, standing so close to him that their shoes almost touched. It would have taken absolutely no effort at all to reach out, put his hands on her waist, pull her close, and…

"We need to talk," he blurted out in lieu of a greeting, before he could have stopped himself, instinctively taking half a step back. His words sounded brusque even to his own ears—so no wonder that Skye shied away from him right away, taking a step back as the smile faded from her slightly glistening lips (was she wearing lipgloss?).

"Is everything alright?" she asked, suddenly sounding small. He saw her reach for the drawstring of her pants, wrapping it around her finger in a nervous gesture.

"Yes. I mean… no. I mean…" Grant ran his hand through his hair—he really should have thought this over better. Letting out a sigh, he stepped forward and tried again. "I've been thinking in the last few days, and—"

"Ow." Skye visible stiffened.

"Ow?" he repeated, pronouncing it as a question as he frowned.

"Yes, 'ow,' because nothing good ever came out of a conversation that started with 'we need to talk' and 'I've been thinking,'" she replied without missing a beat, still worrying the drawstring with a forced half-smile on her face. "One of those is bad enough, but two at the same time?"

"No, it's nothing like that." _Nothing like what?_ , asked a small, absolutely not helpful voice in his head. Dismissing it, Grant stepped forward and tentatively reached for her hand. He almost let out a relieved sigh when she dropped the drawstring and let him weave their fingers together. "It's just…" he raised his gaze from their interlinked finger and looked into her eyes. "What we have now—if I can say this—is amazing. It really is. You're amazing. But—"

"There's always a but," she cut in, more resigned than angry.

" _But_ ," he went on, "I'm, first and foremost, your S.O. here, and that comes with certain… responsibilities. I need to… I need to make you ready for, well, for whatever's waiting for you out in the field." Okay, that sounded lame, he admitted to himself. "What I mean is, I need to focus on teaching you to how to defend yourself. And how to… be an agent?" This was getting worse by the minute. "And to be able to do that, I need to maintain authority. So, I can't be your boyfriend." Seeing her eyes narrow and the corner of her mouth tremble, he added hastily: "In here! I can't be your boyfriend here, when we're training, because as your _boyfriend_ I'd do things, things different than training you, when—"

"Hey, okay, I get it," Skye interrupted him, squeezing his hand, then added with a hint of a smile, "At least I think I get it. Church and state, right?"

Relief flooding him, he relaxed his shoulders and let out a long exhale; he could have kissed her right then—because leave it to her to summarize in a simple sentence what he couldn't articulate in a mini-speech. "Exactly."

"Okay," she nodded and let go of his hand. Slipping a hairband from her wrist, she gathered her hair together and tied it into a ponytail. "I can do that. But be warned," she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes as she started wrapping up her hands, "now I'll make you pay for every snarky comment, every torturous little thing, every _pull up_ later. In bed."

Grant found his own mouth pull into a smile as he watched her. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

* * *

To her credit, Skye's behavior during their training session was… well, not exemplary, but commendable, at least to her standards. Meaning that he still caught an annoyed mumble or two sometimes, she still complained a little, and still made sarcastic little quips—things that would've earned her a reprimand from any instructor at Operations—, but that was to be expected. This was her style. Honestly, he would have been worried if she stopped joking around during their sessions. However, on the other hand, she seemed to be really putting herself out there—she did everything exactly like he'd asked her to do, she wasn't pulling her punches, she really seemed to be intent doing the exercises right, and, what's the most important thing, she made no inappropriate moves toward him, not even when she had a chance. He had a feeling that she was doing it to prove him that, despite the recent change in their personal life, this side of their relationship, the S.O./Rookie side, was still working just fine, so he shouldn't worry.

For which he was really proud of her.

But it did not mean that it made their training session any easier for him.

The whole hour was a constant battle for him, fought between his mind and his most basic desires. Because no matter how hard he tried to focus on the task at hand, or how intent he was on compartmentalizing, whenever he touched her, or was just close enough to her to smell her scent, his mind was screaming at him to make a move, to take her, to _mark her_.

Still, he remained in control; it was no small feat, but they got through training without any incident. Of course, there were a few close calls, but Grant was confident that if someone had been watching them train, they wouldn't have noticed anything out of the ordinary, even if, under the surface, it took him herculean efforts not to let all of his blood rush south during their sparring practice.

Yet by the time they finished, put the equipment away, and made their way up to the main deck, he was high-strung, ready to explode; and watching her ass sway right in front of him as they walked up the spiral staircase was only adding oil to the fire. So, it was no wonder that by the time they entered the lounge he came to the decision that it was time to switch from being her S.O. back to being her lover.

As they entered the galley and she stepped to the fridge, with her back to him, he took the opportunity and stood behind her, sneaking his arms around her waist and lowering his head to the crook of her neck. He felt her stiffen for a moment as she looked around, probably making sure no-one was around to see them (as if he'd make such a move before checking), then she relaxed again, letting out a small chuckle.

"I thought you were strictly my S.O. this morning," she said with a light, teasing tone as she slid her hand on top of his. He smiled against her skin.

"I'm already off the clock," he replied, his nose skimming along her neck. "So I'm just… your guy now, who wants to hear about your morning." He was still apprehensive of using the word "boyfriend." Slipping his thumb under the hem of her top and caressing the soft skin of her abdomen, he asked, "How was your training? Did that terrible S.O. of yours give you a hard time?"

Giggling, she shifted her weight and leaned back, her shoulder blades resting against his chest.

"Oh, it was okay," she said, joining the game. "And he's really not _that_ terrible. He even praised me today."

"He did?" Growing bolder, he pushed the fabric of her top up, so he could reach more skin.

"U-huh," she murmured, tilting her head to the side, allowing him a better access to her neck. "He said my form was great."

"That's nice," he answered as he started peppering her neck with small kisses.

"Yeah." Her voice was growing slightly breathless. "And how was your trainee?"

He grinned against her skin. "Infuriating, as always."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She makes me crazy sometimes."

"How crazy?"

"Crazy enough that it's hard containing myself." Grabbing her hips, he pulled her back against his groin, letting her feel his hardening member. "Crazy enough that it takes all my willpower not to take her on the mats."

She let out a low, keening noise as she ground against him, making him hiss. "Then why hold back?"

He didn't answer her with words; instead, his hands still on her hips, he swiftly turned her around and, relishing in her surprised squeal, he pressed his lips against hers. His kiss was rough, demanding, forcing her mouth open so he could slide his tongue in and seek out her own—however, based on the low moan tearing free from her throat and how her hands found his face right away, pulling him closer, she didn't mind it a bit. Nibbling on her lower lip, he raised one hand to the back of her head and pulled the band from her ponytail, letting her hair fall down. Then, one hand fisting her locks at the nape of her neck and the other still on her hip, he guided her backwards, until her backside met with the edge of the counter. Yearning for a better access to her mouth and neck and what lay below it (times like this, he hated how _tiny_ she was), he let her go for a moment, then grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted her on the counter.

She must have been thinking along the same lines, because her legs wrapped around his waist right away, pulling him even closer and grinding her core against his groin. Despite the layers of clothing still separating them, he hissed at the feeling and kissed her even harder. Tilting her head to the side, his lips wandered from her mouth, leaving hot, hurried kisses along her neck.

"I thought…" He loved how breathless she sounded. "I thought we were supposed to be careful," she cautioned, although he did not miss the way she slid her fingers into his hair, pulling his head closer to her and urging him on.

"We are," he smirked against the skin of her shoulder as he pushed the straps of her shirt and sports bra down. "Coulson and May are in a briefing, FitzSimmons are stocking up on lab supplies. The Bus is all ours." Pushing the fabric down, he palmed her breast, teasing the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making her throw her head back and moan. "And don't act like you didn't plan on this."

He didn't have to see her face to know that she was smiling slyly. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said as she slipped a hand under his shirt, feeling the ridges of his abdomen.

He fastened his lips on her nipple and gave it a hard suck, making her gasp and her thighs quiver. "The clothes, the hair, _the bra_ ," he fondled her other breast through her top. "You were trying to _seduce_ me." Lifting his head a bit, he teasingly bit into the juncture of her neck. "You weren't nearly as subtle as you thought you were."

"Damn," she breathed, her hand slipping lower, ghosting dangerously close to where he wanted her the most. "I guess you still have a lot to teach me. Seduction is spywork, after all, is it not?"

"It is, sometimes. But it's still way above your level," he breathed against her neck, his hand sliding down along her side. "Although I see no problem with giving you a bit of a lesson."

Her hand boldly slipped beneath the waistband of his pants. "Then teach away," she whispered into his ear, wrapping her fingers around his hard length.

Groaning loudly at her sweet torture, he let his head fall forward, his forehead resting against her shoulder. It took him a few deep breaths to calm himself—he hadn't been aware of how worked up he actually was until her deft fingers playing along his shaft almost made him come right on the spot—, but when he did, he grinned against her skin. So, she wanted a lesson? Then she'd get a lesson.

Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of her pants, he started pulling them down. She caught on quickly, letting him go and wrapping her arms around his neck to raise herself a bit, then leaning back, helping him get rid of her clothes. It wasn't elegant or quick or even that sexy—it involved a lot of tugging and maneuvering and her telling him to hurry—, but it got the job done: with a bit of an effort, he managed to peel her pants off, pulling them over her shoes and dropping them on the floor, alongside with her panties. Once exposed to him, he wasted no time—he spread her legs wide, opening her up to him. Then, just as she was about to put her arms around his neck once again to draw him close, he slid his hand from her knee to her center and, after drawing a teasing circle against her clit with his thumb, he slipped two fingers into her slick, hot core.

She gasped and her hands flew to his shoulders to anchor herself; encouraged by her reaction, he curled his fingers, massaging her walls, trying to find her g-spot. He loved to watch her face as he did that—biting into her lower lip, she tilted her head back, her eyes fluttering closed and her cheeks flushed red as her hands fisted in the material of his shirt. Wanting to see more of that, he added a third finger, which made her moan loudly and drop her head against his shoulder.

After that, he set a slow rhythm, and kept his thrusts intentionally shallow—he wanted to tease her, to draw this out. He wanted to drive her crazy, just for a little while, just as she had been driving him crazy barely ten minutes before. And clearly, this was working, because she soon started whimpering quietly in frustration, then reached between their bodies, trying get a hold of him and forcing him closer, deeper.

But he caught her wrist with his free hand and held it above her head, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"Who gave you permission to do that?" he asked with a smirk playing on his lips as he completely stilled his fingers.

Skye tried to glower at him, but he could see it in her eyes that she was enjoying this little game. "I thought I needed no permission," she replied, leaning towards him, clearly wanting to get close enough to kiss him and throw his concentration. "Since we're out of training and all."

"Oh, but you wanted a lesson," he said, meeting her halfway, his lips ghosting along the line of her jaw. "So here you go," he told her, punctuating it with a confident thrust of his hand that made her close her eyes shut.

"Oh, you're such—ah!" her sentence ended in a small scream as he curled his fingers, hitting a sweet spot inside of her. He smirked, but ignored her comment.

"What do you want?" he asked instead, withdrawing slightly as he moved his head to the side of her neck, inhaling her scent in.

"You know full well what I want." She tried angling her hips and pushing against his hand, but it only made him still again.

"But I want to hear it from you." He was enjoying it way more than he should have, he was aware of that. But there was simply something in riling Skye up that he couldn't resist. "Come on, sweetheart…" he urged her, tracing her opening with his finger.

One of her hands still free, she tried to guide his hand inside of her once again—or maybe to touch herself—, but he simply caught that hand too, pulling it upwards to join the other. A mischievous half-grin on his face, he leaned in and gave her a quick, dirty kiss. "I'll rephrase the question," he said when he pulled away, his lips still a hairbreadth away from hers, "do you want to come?"

Her eyes fluttering closed, she let out a small whimper, her mouth chasing his. He leaned his head back so she couldn't reach him, then pushed his groin against her center, making her feel his hard member, and asked again, "Do you want to come?"

She gasped. "Yes!"

"How much?" he asked, giving her a hard, punctuated thrust. "Do you want to come enough that you'd give me ten pull-ups tomorrow for it?"

That actually had her raise her head and look into his eyes, slightly taken aback. "What?"

He just grinned. "Would you?" he repeated, adjusting his hands so that he was holding onto her wrists with one, while the other snaked down her back to the small of her back. With a swift, forceful move, he pulled her even closer, so she was sitting right on the edge of the counter, pressing their lower halves together. "What do you say, Skye?"

There was a moment of pause, her eyes never leaving his, then she said, "Yes! Damnit, yes, I'll do it, just get me off already!"

He let go of her wrists right away and, cupping her face in his hands, he gave her a long, deep, searing kiss. "Remind me later to teach you the tricks of how to last under torture," he said when he ended the kiss, his lips still millimeters away from hers, "because this, this went terribly."

Skye let out a little, annoyed grunt. "Less talking, more-"

He didn't let her finish the sentence; kissing her again, his tongue sliding into her mouth, he reached between their bodies and tugged the waistline of his pants and underwear down just enough to free his erection. It wasn't elegant or even a little romantic, but the foreplay had been drawing on just a little bit too long, and he consoled himself with the thought that he'd make it up for her later on somehow.

Ha gave himself a hard pump—he was throbbing and almost painfully hard—, then slid the tip of his member teasingly along her clit and, without any more preamble, he pushed into her.

She was hot and wet and welcoming, her walls spasming around him tentatively as he slid home, and he moaned at the sensation, letting his head fall back. This was, what, his sixth time with her in sixty hours, something of a personal record for him, and the novelty of the event should have already started fading, but it had not—it felt just as divine and indescribable as the first time.

He stilled for a moment to catch his breath, then, one hand braced against the wall behind her, he reached for the back of her neck with the other—she seemed just as dazed as he was, biting into her lip and her eyes fluttering closed—. and pulled her into a heated kiss as he started moving.

He was past the point of being gentle; skipping the slow, build-up strokes, he started pounding into her right away, reaching in deep and rocking her whole body. There was a fleeting moment when he wanted to ask if this was okay, but then, before he could have opened his mouth, she sneaked an arm under his outstretched one, settling her hand on his shoulder blade, her nails digging into his flesh as she anchored herself. She was obviously enjoying it just as much as he was. He let go of her neck and lowered his hand to her hips, gripping the top of her thighs—maybe forcefully enough to leave bruises—, helping her to set the tempo.

He hit a sweet spot inside of her and she screamed, her head falling against his shoulder, as she wrapped her other arm around him too, now ten fingernails leaving angry red lines on his back. "More, please," she moaned, her voice husky from pleasure.

Gritting his teeth, he simply nodded and increased the pace even more—he was sure, had the Bus been a little less sturdy, they would have wrecked the counter (now, _that_ would have been fun to explain).

Already having been completely riled up by their training session and overwhelmed by her sheer presence, the way her soft skin was pushed against him, and how her tight, hot walls were enveloping him, he soon started to feel the tell-tale tingling at the base of his spine, alerting him that it'd be soon over.

"Are you close?" he whispered into her ear, then, not even waiting for her answer, he let go of her hip and slipped his hand between their bodies, seeking out her clit. "Come on, babe, come for me," he murmured, drawing rough circles against that bundle of nerves.

"I'm almost… almost…" He angled his hips a little and gave her a hard thrust, the new angle allowing him to hit just the right spot inside of her. "Ah!" she exclaimed suddenly before she clamped her mouth on his shoulder to muffle her cries of ecstasy.

Her body went rigid under him, her nails digging even deeper, as her walls started violently spasming around him, desperate to milk him. And then he came, too, giving her two more punctuated thrusts before a low, guttural moan tore free from his throat and he spilled himself deep into her in hot spurts.

She kept riding the waves of her orgasm long after he was done and utterly spent, his member going flaccid inside of her. He waited until her body relaxed completely, leaning against him as if she had no bones left inside of her, and only then did he pull out, not even yet caring about tucking himself back into his pants. He just stayed there, holding her close, catching their breaths together, feeling her heartbeat against his.

When she seemed to have regained some of her strength, he pushed her slightly away, looked into her eyes, then pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. "You were amazing," he told her softly as he adjusted the strap of her bra and top.

She smirked. "In training or just now?"

He matched her with a half-cocky, half-proud smile of his own. "Both," he said before kissing her again, this time letting the kiss draw out long, her tongue slipping teasingly into his mouth.

"Happy to hear that," she told him with heavy-lidded yes when they broke apart. Then her gaze wandered to his shoulder and her eyes went wide. "Oh, damn, I'm sorry…"

He followed her gaze, and saw the angry, red marks where she had bitten into him in the throes of her orgasm peek out from just under his collar; he couldn't even feel them now, in his endorphin-induced haze, and he realized he didn't mind them, either. There was something ultimately arousing about the knowledge of being marked by her.

"It's okay, it doesn't hurt," he told her soothingly as he took her hands, his thumbs drawing gentle circles into the back of her hand. He kissed her again, then let his forehead rest against hers.

He wouldn't have minded staying in the moment forever, but, sadly, he knew that life had to go on. So, he adjusted his pants and underwear, then got down to his knees in front of her and, without a word, eased her pants—he didn't bother with her panties—back over her feet. He pulled them as far up as he could, then he stood again, put his hands on her waist—she placed hers on his shoulders almost automatically—and helped her off the counter. Once she was standing up, he pulled her pants completely up and tucked her underwear into her pocket.

He gazed into her eyes once again, running his hands through her hair; she leaned into his touch.

"Go, have a shower," he told her, his voice husky. "I'll clean up here first."

Her eyes sparkling, she stood on the tip of her toes and pressed a quick kiss against his lips. "You're awesome, you know that, right?"

"For cleaning up the mess we made, or for what has just happened?" he smirked.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Both."

He let out a little laugh, then watched her as she skipped towards her bunk to get her toiletries and some clean clothes. Stopping just in front of her door, she turned back towards him, and, with a knowing glint in her eye, she asked, "See you in a couple of hours for the afternoon training, S.O.?"

"You can bet on it," was all he said before she disappeared into her bunk. _Oh, he was looking forward to it._


End file.
